


Folk in the Forest

by b_o_m_a_s



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Journalist Zayn, M/M, Musician Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_o_m_a_s/pseuds/b_o_m_a_s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not actually a folk festival, but no one talks about that. Zayn is a journalist at the Folk in the Forest festival and everyone else it there too, except for Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folk in the Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadedbastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedbastard/gifts).



> So, apparently an actual folk festival by that name exists in Dwellingup, Australia. This is not about that.

Zayn ignores the buzzing in his jeans pocket and the subsequent ping as he tries to stabilize a tripod in the uneven grass, for the fourth time. At least it’s not raining, thank god. Fingers crossed. When he trusts the construct not to immediately collapse he steps back and lets out a breath, not daring averting his gaze yet.

He’ll have to readjust, which basically means doing the whole thing over again, for almost every interview, because of the sun and change location multiple times today. Nice. For now, he’s pleased with the lighting in the little spot of green amidst countless spots of green, where he’d chosen to start the interviews off.

Really, everything’s green. That’s a large part of the charm. His pocket vibrates again, closely followed by another ping, reminding him of his earlier message. He turns the screen and ends up turning around himself shielding his phone from as much daylight as possible.

       I’m dieeeeing

       How r you surviving without me so far ?

He sits down on a nearby bench - wise spot choice - to type his response.

       Haven’t had time to miss you, too busy doin both of our jobs

And that’s true. Usually Louis and him would be doing this together. One of them filming while the other interviews musicians and random drunk people strolling around, but Louis is at their flat with thermos flasks of disgusting herbal tea and a bedside table drowning in used tissues. He can’t even be mad at him for not being here today.

Nonetheless, he reckons it’s going to be extra stressful. Fun, because festivals are always fun, but stressful and he’s got about half a minute of sunbathing time before the first interview of the day is scheduled. He turns his phone to silent.

***

This is good. This is so much better. A ginger guy, Ed, 24, big cat fan and already remarkably squiffy for the time of day if they weren’t at a festival is making his way through his third take of “This year with two stages, an acoustic tent and some super special surprises”. Or something like that.

When Zayn had looked at some of his footage from earlier today, he’d cringed a bit. The short intro he had done first thing after arriving was shit. Not completely useless, but rather boring and subpar. All very static and slightly off. He was - is - still getting accustomed to doing this alone and it showed.

Now, Zayn is in the middle of redoing that clip. The idea had been to include festival goers and maybe even some of the acts, give them cards with a line and let them do the on-camera work. The part with the cards and lines didn’t end up working with everyone, but he got lots of great unscripted footage.

Ed is finishing off a story about the hammocks they apparently have here, waving the microphone around delightedly. When they’re done Zayn thanks him, and Ed pulls him into a hug before heading off.

He continues on his search for amateur presenters, strolling through the festival grounds. There’s always music being played in the background. Sounds from the different stages merging and creating a constant audio backdrop. He ends up at the food stalls, where a simple but cute sign reading “Steak me home!” in yellow letters catches his eye.

It’s early afternoon and there’s only a small line - if you can even call it that - consisting of one person, so Zayn waits to the side until the guy has been served.

He likes how this stranger and basically everyone here radiates happiness and positivity. Everyone’s just attuned to having a great time and beyond the essentials, that’s what Zayn hopes to capture in his pictures and videos. This atmosphere, this good mood.

The man behind the counter smiles at him genuinely and only a tiny bit crazily, but still welcoming. He’s kind of cute, like the wooden sign above his head.

“Hi.”

“Hey. I’m Zayn from RWE.” He starts, reaching out his free hand not carrying his equipment.

“RWE, right.” He glances at the camera bag slung over Zayns’ shoulder as recognition seems to spark “Here to report about Folk in the Forest.”. Huh, that’s usually his part to explain. Then again he is carrying around a camera and a microphone. “Liam.” the vendor adds shaking Zayn’s hand firmly.

Zayn goes on to illustrate the idea to Liam, who follows his words interestedly and is willing to help, despite looking kind of stressed, bless him. He’s probably the first person to get the line Zayn gives him completely right and he nails it on his second try, winking and waving at the camera with a spatula.

It works, and it makes Zayn smile behind his camera. It’s way more interesting and representative of the festival than just him standing next to the sign at the entrance and talking for half a minute. All of it.

“How was that?” Liam asks after a few moments as Zayn turns the camera off and puts it back into its bag.

“That was great. Thanks.” He answers truthfully. He thinks he’s got everything for the intro, probably more.

“Really, no problem.” Liam shakes his head “At all. If you need anything, just ask me. Like, if you can find me. I’m kind of all over the place here.”

Good to know. He says goodbye to Liam, person to go to when in need.

***

Zayn’s phone comes back to life, or wakes from a coma, a nap - or really just a dead zone - while he is walking back to his car from The Like’s performance. A angry girl rock band with short dresses and a 60s kind of vintage sound. Taking photos of performances isn’t necessarily his job, but he attends a few shows and maybe takes some. His phone was vibrating, right.

       Meeeeeh

       Entertain me Malik

       Bout to interview Unique Selling Point

And yes, the clock on his phone suggests it’s about time for the next interview. He should get his tripod out of the trunk and find a place to set it up, preferably not in the mud or something. Another message interrupts this train of thought.

       USP? I know the lead siger !!

Okay, so he’s not looking for a nice spot, at the minute. It can wait for a few texts and a smoke.

       You do?

       Met him at a concert few years back. Small world

***

They’re all sitting on the grass, almost in a little half circle, a sea of colourful tents in view behind them. Zayn had recognised one of them - Niall, who plays guitar - as the guy from the food stall earlier. He’s currently looking at the camera and tearing handfuls of grass from the ground.

“It’s a very cool festival and we’re excited to be here and get to play.” Druscilla explains. She’d introduced herself as the drummer of the group earlier. Not that Zayn hadn’t known. He does his research, mostly. Which means he’d listened to a few songs and skimmed their website.

“Like, the trees are really cool.” Harry adds.

Harry, he’s sitting cross-legged, leaning back on his hands and Zayn can see part of what he thinks might be two birds tattooed on his sparsely covered chest. Not that he’s complaining, buttons are overrated. Maybe he can slip in a question about tattoos.

Meanwhile Niall has started singing the first line of _What a Wonderful World_ , Louis Armstrong impression and all.

“They are.” Trees, right. They also throw annoying shadows when you’re filming under them, but that’s not the point. “Are you planning on seeing any of the acts here then?”

“Gold Motel!” Niall chimes in. “They’re great. We’re actually staying for like the whole festival.”

Everyone agrees on wanting to see Gold Motel. It isn’t exactly a lie on Zayn’s part, more like, a bit of exaggeration for the sake of small talk. Humans lie an average of what, 200 times a day? He might even go see them now. For the next few minutes he sits back watching the three of them talk and throwing in a question here and there. They have an interesting dynamic.

“So, Unique Selling Point.” He says eventually. This is the point in every interview where you ask a stupid question alluding to song or album titles and making as many puns as possible, that everyone has heard a million times before, because you’re clever and funny. Yes. This is usually Louis’ favourite part. “What’s _your_ unique selling point?”

“Our name, actually.” Niall declares with a large smile, clearly not tired of hearing that one, or at least he doesn’t show it. “That’s it.”

Druscilla chuckles as Harry leans forward looking at Zayn and murmurs: “We wanted to do Snow Angels, initially.”

Zayn can’t keep a small smile off his face at that and they go on, chatting about Unique Selling Points’ recent album and plans for a next one. Harry is - apart from yes, attractive - charming, if you want to keep to mere facts. He also has green eyes, Zayn has noticed, and likes to devote his whole undivided attention to whomever he’s talking to.

“What’s the writing process like? Like, who mainly writes the songs?” He asks, skimming his notes and switching to the next card. No one needs to know that he’s improvising to some extent. Not his strong suit, but those are usually the better interviews, with naturally flowing conversation and unforced laughs.

“Ehm. It’s always quite different really.” Druscilla starts pausing to think. “Sometimes we-”

“Dru writes most of the songs. S’all her really.” Niall says clapping her on the back and resting his arm around her shoulders. “Should have called ourselves ‘Dru and the Dudes’.”

“I do.” she agrees patting Niall’s knee in return. “Except for the really sappy love songs. Harry writes those.” She turns to her left, looking at Harry, who just nods his approval with a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Nice. What do you guys like to do for fun?”

Niall starts to answer the questions, talking about pints and sports and like, normal stuff, you know? Druscilla muttering “Rockstars!” while Harry leans over her and Niall to point directly at the camera with his best beaming smile:

“Performing at festivals and getting interviewed by” He averts his eyes from the camera for a second finding what he’s looking for on the cards in Zayn’s lap. “RWE. Only the best.”

The other two throw their arms around Harry and themselves on top of him. It ends in a giggling tangle of bandmates and that about wraps up the interview.

***

“Zayn. Hi.”

Zayn’s not really surprised to find Harry at the source of that voice. Well he is, because he didn’t expect Harry to approach him on his way back from the hammocks, but his voice and manner of speaking are recognizable, even after only just having met. He speaks the way he’s walking towards Zayn right now, leisurely and seemingly aimless at times.

“Hi!” He spends a moment or two pondering the appropriate greeting in this situation and doesn’t reach a useful conclusion. Handshake, wave? A hug? Maybe just nothing?

Harry waves, stopping a few feet from Zayn and gives him a dimpled smile. His aura is mesmerizing. It’s the first word that comes to his mind. Mesmerizing and angelic. Okay, so that might be a tad much. He should bring it down a notch, and say something. Wave back?

A gust of wind almost blows the hat off Harry’s head and he has to reach up to keep it in place.

“I saw you taking pictures. What are you doing?”

“Taking pictures, actually.” Zayn replies and almost feels bad for maybe being a bit too cheeky - this is not Louis, but actually almost a stranger he’s talking to - until Harry’s smile widens for a second and he shakes his head at himself. He takes his hat off his head and into one hand.

“As long as the sun is still out.” Zayn elaborates. “Sounds kinda clichéd but the sunset is going to make for pretty sick lighting. Makes everything softer.” Harry joins his hands behind his back, listening interestedly, while he sways slightly back and forth on his feet. Zayn could talk about photography for hours. Art in general even longer. “The warm light almost makes things glow sometimes, you know.”

“That’s so cool!”

Harry rambles on about how he’s always liked photography but never properly got into it, sounding genuinely fascinated by what Zayn tells him. His hair is different now from when it was peeking out from under his hat. The way his curls gently dance in the light breeze, it almost looks magic. He tries not to stare too much.

“Can I try? Are we going to take pictures?” Harry asks full of enthusiasm and it might be the setting sun - that does make his face look softer - reflecting in his eyes, but Zayn could swear they actually sparkle.

“Sure, they’re supposed to be...natural though. Like, they’re supposed to be honest and show things the way they are, you know? Not like a staged photoshoot”. He chooses to play along, because sure, why not? He wanted to capture Harry anyway, if only to keep as a memory.

“Okay” Harry glances around searchingly “I’m just going to be completely...” having apparently found what he’d been looking for Harry drops his hat and starts walking to where the field passes into forest “...natural.” he says, as he places one foot on a post stuck in the grass in an attempt at - is that supposed to be seductive? And it’s a miracle, the way his black skinny jeans grant him the range of motion to prop his leg up in an almost 140 degree angle.

Zayn tries to stay serious and takes a picture, maybe two.

When Harry has his right foot back on the ground and almost fallen over in the process, he crouches down in a movement that reminds Zayn of ballet, or Gollum. Something in between. Standing up again and turning towards him, Harry is now holding a flower that is mostly a big green stem with roots and still a bit of mud attached at the bottom and a few proportionally tiny pink blossoms at the top in his hands.

“You’re not allergic to flowers, are you?” Speaking of sunsets and clichés. This is kind of awfully cheesy, but also adorable.

“Nope.” He debates it for a second, then he’s picking up Harry’s discarded hat, placing it on his own head and walking towards Harry.

“Here.” Harry says holding the flower out to him.

Zayn takes it without actually looking at it, eyes focused on Harrys and vice versa. How does Harry hold eye contact so easily? His eyes are beautiful, but he’s looking right back at Zayn and making him feel vulnerable, for himself and Harry as well. Second hand vulnerability, if that’s a thing. Also, very light.

They stand there gazing and smiling at each other for a moment. Zayn decides to break the silence before it can get weird.

“Walk for a bit?”

Harry nods happily and leads the way, or maybe he thinks Zayn is. It doesn’t really matter.

He absentmindedly fiddles with the leaves on the stem of his flower listening to Harry talk as they stroll along the edge of the forest. From up close the blossoms are actually quite pretty. Pink rounded petals with a bit of white in the middle and the perfect example that flowers don’t actually look like vaginas. He never understood why people say that.

“So...how did you get your first tattoo? What’s the story?”

***

Of course he sees Unique Selling Point’s performance. Of course he watches the whole thing. He might be a bit biased at this point, but they’re great. Zayn has fought his way to midway to the right side with minor elbow effort. He could probably have used his journalist privileges to get a front row or side stage spot, but that would have been a bit too...obvious, maybe.

Anyway, he’s having a good time surrounded by jumping people and with a good view of a jumping Harry enthusiastically punching the air to the beat and skipping around the stage. He seems to be having the time of his life, even if Zayn’s not quite sure what exactly it is he’s doing up there wiggling his hands in the air. It’s quite entertaining to watch.

Dancing skills aside, he’s a good singer. Amazing even. His voice is deep and warm and full of emotion. It's like liquid honey and backed by Niall’s rather shouty voice creates intriguing harmonies.

There are likely a lot of influences to their music that Zayn can’t place. What he knows though, because he feels it and sees it all around him, is that it makes people happy. Dancing and singing along to cleverly honest lyrics. He’d peg the music as pop. Then maybe it’s more folk rock at points. Whatever it is considered as in a professional’s opinion, it works.

On stage, Harry is at the moment hitting a tambourine on different parts of his body, in time with the music. It looks kind of painful, and he winces when he tries hitting it on his head, but he’s smiling through it and even breaking out into a giggle at Druscilla laughing at him.

Harry has charmed Zayn completely and he doesn’t even know it.

The humour and dynamic Zayn had witnessed during the interview translates on stage. Sometimes Harry gets lost in song introductions and the others have to interrupt his ramblings, but other times they end up distracting each other with inside jokes for minutes at a time. There’s a lot of laughing and most of the time the audience is in on the joke.

“This next song.” he proudly declares, only a little out of breath “Is a little cover. A tiny cover.” Niall has already started playing a very familiar bass line. “It’s called ‘Stand By Me’.” Harry rushes out before singing the first line.

Zayn decides to send Louis a little video during their last song, while they are all chanting the last two lines over and over again. It had started out with only Harry singing them, emotional, raw and beautiful, over Niall gently strumming each chord once on an acoustic guitar and letting it ring. By now, everyone in the band and the audience has joined in. This is one of those moments where music transcends and turns truly magical.

It doesn’t immediately send, but it will eventually, so Zayn puts his phone away and goes back to watching Harry kissing Niall on the cheek as they bow with their arms slung around each other and leave the stage with the rest of the band throwing picks and water bottles and drumsticks into the audience.

***

So he likes Harry. Harry likes him.

It’s worth a shot at least, he figures. Not every musician is the love ‘em and leave ‘em womanizer stereotype and Harry radiates a calm candor that makes it hard not to trust him. Plus who said Zayn isn’t one to love ‘em and leave ‘em. He isn’t, but hypothetically speaking, the point stands. Whatever might evolve out of this is as undefined as the square root of -2, so there’s really nothing to worry about.

***

As chance would have it, or maybe he just subconsciously followed the sound of slightly familiar laughter and squeals. Either that or Zayn was simply drawn to the figurative heart of the festival, which at the moment happens to be a small group of people including Harry, Druscilla and Niall. Surprise.

From where he is standing Zayn can see Niall chasing Harry, who is carrying Druscilla on his back, around the refreshments tent with a little yellow water pistol. When it is empty he opts for just throwing the toy itself, and Zayn watches as it escalates into a full blown water fight.

There’s at least one other water pistol and twice as many people involved. Alliances are being formed, people used as shields and water is being spat. It’s not long until everyone’s clothes are clinging to their bodies, soaked and partly covered in mud. The mud is mostly from Niall, who’d slipped and taken whomever he could grab in his fall down with him.

Zayn briefly wonders if any of them brought a change of clothes before remembering that he is, in fact, not their parent.

Soon a man wearing an official Folk in the Forest staff shirt and a frown is approaching them and yeah, they’d been causing a bit of a commotion. He looks too serious for the scene and doesn’t fit in at all as he tries to break the chaos apart. Trys and dramatically fails. The official badge around his neck doesn’t give him the kind of authority that makes everyone do as he says. Instead, someone pulls him in by the lanyard and keeps him in place while two bottles of water are emptied over his head.

He seems to have just accepted his fate at this point and ah, it’s Liam, the vendor from earlier, only without the spatula. Zayn recognizes his smile as he’s getting closer. He’s not planning on joining the water fight that is slowly coming to an end now, just spectating while he very unhurriedly walks by.

“We’re out of water!” someone shouts, and Liam shoots the girl in the refreshments tent who’s about to make herself noticed a disapproving glare, shaking his head. There’s still water dripping from his nose and chin.

***

Apparently one giant fire hazard was deemed safer and easier to control than several smaller, super amazing and super forbidden drunk ideas to make a fire. The campfire is huge, but it’s still intimate, like everyone knows each other; and after today everyone probably does know at least someone here they didn’t come with. People are chatting and laughing in groups formed around simplistic wooden benches. Someone’s brought twist bread dough.

Zayn spots the guys from Unique Selling Point where Niall’s playing guitar, center of attention without betraying his musician status. They aren’t the only act who stayed past their performance, blending right in with the rest of the festival goers.

A few benches over he sees Liam, laughing about something a woman stroking through his hair just said, distinctly more relaxed now. Maybe he should go over and say hi later, but back to the task at hand. He has two beers and a plan.

The plan is to offer Harry one of the drinks as an opener and take things from there. Zayn might have gone over the conversation a few times in his head, but real life never sticks to his scripts anyway, so.

One, two, three. Go.

As he is approaching the fire, Harry himself poses problem number one in his plan. He is snuggled between Niall and a woman Zayn doesn’t know, looking soft and happy. On second thought, this is the opposite of a problem. The fire has turned Harry’s cheeks a rosy red and he is wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up. Zayn is seriously starting to suspect that he is one of those people who look stunning in everything they wear.

He comes to a halt in front of the little group and says: “Hey.” It’s mostly aimed at Niall, because he is the first one who sees him.

Niall greets him with a “Hiiiii! Zayn, right?” nudging Harry next to him, or maybe that’s just Zayn overanalyzing things. He raises the drink in his right hand for a greeting and gets mumbled responses and smiles from the little group in turn; Niall, Dru, Harry, the woman next to Harry, a guy sitting on the ground and another woman next to him, until Druscilla speaks up from right beside him.

“You drink at work?”

And ah, yes, he’s still holding the two beers, which seems rather stupid now.

“Nah, I’m technically done, work wise. Those beers were just, like - not to come empty handed?” He stammers. The festival equivalent of ‘Can I buy you a drink?’, but he can’t say that. “An entrance strategy to your gathering.” Zayn grins.

“A gateway drug.” Harry giggles. “Welcome.”

Druscilla scoots over, so Zayn can sit down on the blanket she’s been sitting on. It’s very thin - probably no different to just sitting on the bare ground, but he accepts the nice gesture and offers her one of his beers.

The man he doesn’t know asks him if he works at the festival and Zayn explains journalism in as little words as possible.

Meanwhile, Niall has gone back to playing the occasional bonfire classic. Whoever feels like it joins in and sings whatever words roughly sound like they might be right. Or just the chorus on repeat, that works too.

Once the conversation has moved on from Zayn, Druscilla points at the man who’d asked Zayn about his job and is now gleefully belting out something that sounds vaguely Irish. That, she informs him, is Julian and the girls are Gemma and Lou.

They sit, and Zayn listens a lot and talks a little. He hums along, sings under his breath to some of the songs. The irregular crackling of the fire is calming, like the sound of waves or rain almost. He has to change the way he sits every now and then, because the side of his body facing the fire gets too hot and his legs start to go to sleep. There’s no comfortable way to sit on the ground, but he doesn’t mind at all, leaning back against the bench or someone’s - Lou’s - legs.

Dru catches him watching Harry, which was only a matter of time, really. Wherever he looked all evening, his eyes always found their way to Harry sooner rather than later and Zayn wasn’t unaware of that, or the way Harry was sometimes smiling back at him. He smiles a lot at people.

She’s still watching him, looking at him and he sees a bit of himself in her silent question, that doesn’t need to be a question at all - or maybe he’s projecting his own qualities onto someone he doesn’t know enough yet. Anyway, it’s not nearly early enough for that level of self-reflection and he’s going with nonverbal invitation to talk about it, or something.

“He’s just generally flirty, isn’t he?”

It comes out of his mouth because it’s the first thing that comes to his mind. Probably because it’s been there - or at the back of it - on and off for the last few hours. She doesn’t look surprised.

“He’s polite.” she says. As simple as that, and yeah.

Zayn swirls the beer in his bottle. It’s full still, sloshes over a bit and not only is it not cold anymore, but the heat from the fire has made it proper warm. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he just smiles at Dru appreciatively and nods.

He’s looking into the flames flickering high into the sky, a little twig burning, curling and turning black between embers, when Harry stops throwing small pieces of bark and wood into the fire .

“I can get a blanket or two. We’ve got some in the van, don’t we?” he says, turning towards Niall while Gemma enthusiastically agrees that yes, he should definitely do that. She’s Harry’s sister - if Zayn got that right - and had been strategically mentioning a drop in the temperature for a while. She wasn’t wrong.

Harry untangles himslef from Niall and Lou stumbling out of their middle.

“I’ll go to my car as well. Get some stuff.” Zayn says making to get up himslef. He discards his beer somewhere on the ground caring even less for it now than when it had still served a purpose. Standing up is actually really comfortable after sitting on the ground for so long.

“Coming with me?” Harry turns his head around to Zayn. Someone snickers.

“Better not get lost alone.” Zayn replies, rolling his eyes the slightest bit. He puts his hands in his jacket’s pockets, fiddling with his lighter and waiting for Harry, who stops by his side to catch the car keys Niall throws him. They almost hit Lou in the head.

The cold creeps up his sleeves as soon as they step away from the fire and it isn’t exactly cold per se, but the difference is making him keep his hands in his pockets. It’s early June and surprisingly the sky still gets pitch-black this time of year, must be late.

Harry is walking next to him and Zayn has to look closely at where he steps once they’re out of the fire’s radius of light , which is pretty soon. After a few meters, occasional lanterns are the only source of light apart from the moon and stars in the sky, which don’t count, and Harry beside him becomes the only, barely noticeable, source of warmth.

All of a sudden, somewhere between two trees that look exactly the same in the dark, Zayn’s phone goes crazy. It’s one big shower of pings as he rushes to get it out of his jeans pocket. He tries to unlock the screen, stopping dead in his tracks. The phone is still vibrating in his hand and he has several missed calls and texts.

They’re from Louis, Louis and Louis. The latest texts are just a bunch of question marks and exclamations. They don’t make much sense, so he scrolls up to the first unread text, sent a few hours ago, right under the video from Unique Selling Point’s closing number.

       Thanks for rubbin it in mate!!!

       Rhe Oven is fireproof right?

And oh shit. The oven. He doesn’t know. Probably, but Louis set fire to the kitchen. He actually managed to set fire to their kitchen. Fire. What the hell does he do now? He should call the fire department, find someone. An official person. Find Liam? He’s in need, right? The last time he saw him...is Liam a fireman? Probably not. And he’s here, so no.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and yeah, Harry is there too. It’s a bit grounding, but not really. His heart and his thoughts are still racing against each other and he has to do something. Something. He’s got four missed calls. Calling back sounds reasonable. He selects the latest one and it’s from a few hours ago, but he’s already clicked call and it’s dialling.

He looks at Harry, who hasn’t removed his hand from Zayn’s shoulder and he can barely make out his expression in the dark, but if he had to guess he’d say confused with a side of worried, ready to talk him out of a panic attack, which...not too far-fetched.

“My flatmate.” he whispers and it sounds more like a question than an explanation, but it’ll have to do.

Louis picks up with a muffled moan.

“You’re alive, you fucker!” The contrary hadn’t crossed Zayn’s mind but it’s still more of a relief than he’d expected to hear Louis.

“And awake.” Louis adds. His voice is terribly nasal and a lot deeper than it usually is, but he sounds okay. “Listen, if this is about the fire you’re a little late, Zayn.”

“The fire.” So there was a fire. Harry looks alert now, even in the dark, and Zayn is still nervously playing with his jacket’s zipper, even as Louis explains that their oven might be unusable from now on, but is in fact fireproof and that everything is back under control.

“Yeah, I got it. It’s all cool now. Yeah.” Louis assures him and Zayn tells him not to pull a scare like that on him again, one last time.

“Night, Lou.” Zayn says before he rings off and puts his phone away again. He looks around for something to lean on, but they’re in the middle of a field, so he settles for Harry’s side. Not the worst thing to be leaning on. He grasps for his lighter and cigarettes and holds them out in front of Harry.

“You mind?” he asks.

“Nah.”

Harry’s hand tentatively finds its way to Zayn’s waist, and he considers letting his head drop to Harry’s shoulder and does so after lighting a cigarette. With every breath of smoke part of his restlessness leaves his body and his nervousness slowly vanishes. He never planned on that kind of dependency.

After a while, he puts as much of his weight as he needs to walk back onto his own feet, and starts moving again. They don’t stay that close for long, but close enough for hands to brush on occasion.

"You know. I'm not a photograper, but" Harry says once they have reached the parking area "I think I can picture us together."

**Author's Note:**

> Druscilla is Giselle/Keep_Calm_And_Read_Fic's OC. Go read her stuff and send her flowers.
> 
> Thanks to H for introducing me to Zarry, J for telling me what it's called when things do that thing where they...and J for putting up with me misspelling Niall.
> 
> (Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.)


End file.
